


Rocking and Swaying

by BrandyFromTheBottle



Series: ABO Dark!verse [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abuse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dancing, M/M, Mpreg, Post Mpreg, Pregnancy, Sexual Abuse, Teen Pregnancy, abo dark!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/pseuds/BrandyFromTheBottle
Summary: Stan had been so excited for prom.





	Rocking and Swaying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FocusOnScience](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FocusOnScience/gifts).



> For Sci, I forgot I had this.

Ford misses prom. They all do, huddled around the glass and staring in at the one wriggling, pink thing wrapped in blue amidst a neat row of similar cribs. Nurses with white masks and white gloves flit from crib to crib like bees to flowers and Ford finds he doesn’t care for the child that his mother is cooing over. Doesn’t care for his father’s rumbled approval. He wants Stanley; he wants his brother. The last they had seen of Stanley was a pale face, terrified and bleeding down his legs. 

“Ford!” He’d called at the nurses rushed him to a backroom and gone. Ford had noted the twitch of distaste on his father’s face and he wondered is he preferred his own name on Stan’s lips. 

The memory makes him smirk, gaze lazy and sightless.

“He’s so cute, isn’t he, Stanford?” Ma says and Ford startles, hopes he looks enchanted.    
“Yes,” he replies and tries to pick out his...nephew-brother. It’s like looking at a Mahjong board with the same tiles from corner to corner. “Healthy,” he hedges and Ma beams.

“I know! I was so worried with Stanley and everything, but look at him!” Ma sighs, dreamy.

“Sherman,” Dad agrees. Ford tries not to scowl.

“Stan didn’t name him yet,” Ford comments.

“Needed a name,” Filbrick grunts. “I named him.” 

“As the father,” Ford says. He looks at his father through the corner of his eyes, tilting so that his glasses didn’t limit his peripheral vision. Filbrick regards him shrewdly behind his own lenses.

“He yawned!” Ma exclaims, hands clasped together, eyes twinkling. Ford breaks the tension to smile at his mother. 

“Just like Stan,” he says without meaning it and Ma laughs. Filbrick snorts something derisive that has Ma smacking his arm. They’re sniping low and hot at each other when a nurse trundles up. 

“Pines family? He’s stable if you’d like to see him.”

 

Ford remembers how excited Stan was for prom. It was a year before and Stan had watched with insatiable envy as the limos dragged through the narrow, Jersey streets.

“That’s gonna be us, Ford!” He crowed, watching the slick vehicles parade by. Ford had watched his brother with a fond smile.

 

Stan practiced dancing sporadically. He’d drag Ford into it when the record called for a two person dance or if Stan just felt like being a goof. Ford was always happy to help, even if it meant tripping over his six toed feet. 

“Kings of the dance floor!” Stan would shout as they tripped over each other and fell into breathless heaps.

“Kings of the dance floor!” Ford would answer.

 

Stan is pale and doped out of his mind when Ford gets Ma to tear herself away from the glass and visit her son. Stan blinks at them, face slack and eyes bright. He’s relaxed among the tubes and wires and when he full registers the people standing around him he smile.

“Ma,” he flops out a hand, pawing against the thin, hospital sheets until Ma takes his hand. “I had a baby.” He says, giddy and Ma laughs.

“Yes, you did. He’s beautiful, Stanley.” Stan nods up at the ceiling as Ma strokes his face.

“Ford!” Stan shouts, startles everyone. He looks around, wildly, drunkenly, before his bleary eyes settle on Ford. “I had a baby.” He whispers like a secret. Ford moves closer, careful around a mess of tubes.

“You did.” He agrees and Stan’s face slacks as he leans back into his pillow.

“I had a  _ baby _ .”

“Yes, Stan.” Ford pats his brother’s free hand. Stan looks at him and his face drops into something anxious. Ford looks over his shoulder, sees their father stoic against the wall.

“Is he okay?” Stan asks, licking nervously over chapped lips. Ford bites the inside of his lip to keep quiet but glares at his father anyway.

“Strong boy.” Is all Filbrick says. Stan remains tensed before sighing and sagging, gripping Ford’s hand.

“Oh, the baby! Stanley, Sherman’s so cute!” Ma gushes.

“Sherman,” Stan says. “Shermie.”   
  
Ford comes home early and hears a slow song crooning through the air from the living room. He smiles, imagines his brother, awkward now with the weight of a child, trying to step through the dance alone. Prom is a distant dream now, Stan has been pulled from school to avoid the ridicule that has already infected the Pines family name. Still, it is good to know that Stan still dances.

Ford takes his time putting away his coat and shoes, listens as the first track ends and the pop of the record as it flows into the next.

“Ow! Sorry,” he hears Stan say and frowns. 

“Watch your feet.” 

Ford grits his teeth hard enough to hurt and quietly moves to the doorway into the living room. His blood boils.

Stan’s wearing sweats and a large shirt that still stretches around his middle, frowning at his feet. Filbrick has one large hand on Stan’s shoulder and the other on his swelling waist.

“I can’t even  _ see _ my feet.” Stan complains. Filbrick huffs. 

“Follow my lead.” He says and Stan nods stiffly. They start moving. It’s inelegant, Filbrick has to hold Stan away from himself and Stan waddles awkwardly from side to side. It should be comical, but Filbrick’s hand moves from Stan’s shoulder to cup the back of his neck in a now sickeningly familiar, possessive gesture. Filbrick grunts and Stan mumbles a curse. “Watch it, knucklehead.”

“Sorry,” Stan bites his lips, concentrating on whatever rhythm Filbrick is setting for them. Their father grunts and rolls his shoulders.

“Turn around.” Stan stiffness and does, anxiety in the minute tremble of his fingers. He hands flutter to his waistband like a reflex and Ford nearly storms in, ready to break the scene. But Filbrick leans into Stan, wrapping two broad arms around his son, letting his large hands rest on the swollen belly. Stan doesn’t relax but he follows Filbrick’s lead, swaying in time to the music. 

Ford wants to break his father’s face open; to pry him away from Stan like the leech he is. He hates the simple domesticity of the scene; hates how every sway and turn is centered around the abominable manifestation of violence in Stan’s stomach. He wants, not for the first time, to cut the thing out of his brother entirely. To spare his brother that indignity; the destruction of something Filbrick seems so protective of is merely a bonus.

Instead, Ford watches as Stan slowly, slowly loosens. He watches Stan reach up and rest his hands against their father’s. Ford watches, seething. Watches when Stan gets stiff again; watches the slow, subtle roll of Filbrick’s hips. Ford marches to the front door, opens it, and then slams it shut. He waits, breathes, and then enters the living room. He sees Stan, red and sweating, standing alone. The record pops and skips, stutters to the next song.

“H-heya, Sixer! Yer home early.” He says, smiling. Ford smiles back, pretends his isn’t bearing his teeth in rage. 

“Dancing?” He asks and Stan chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Y-yeah. Pretty dumb, huh? With, uh, prom and all.” Stan looks down at his stomach. Ford looks around, ensuring that his father has slunk off to his office. Sure they’re alone, he saunters up to his brother and lets his hands fall on Stan’s stomach. He represses the shudder of disgust, he’s Stan shiver under him.

“Ford, what--”

“It’s not dumb. I like when you dance.” Ford says and grins at his brother, sliding his hands up Stan’s body until they lightly grab either shoulder. Stan is giving him a bewildered look. “Dance with me!” Ford says and takes a jaunty step to the side, pulling Stan with him. Stan stumbles.

“Those books gone to yer head without me, huh?” Stan chuckles, grabbing Ford’s shoulders to steady them both. Ford laughs.

“Maybe!” He pulls Stan into some more clumsy turns until Stan scoffs and straightens them out. Ford follows Stan’s lead easily. As the song ends and they’re swaying, Stan shaking his head, Ford sees Filbrick standing in the doorway, inscrutable. Ford smiles grimly at him.

 


End file.
